


Boy Toys

by sangueuk



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangueuk/pseuds/sangueuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Jim and Leonard are toys about to meet their new owner.</p>
<p>Intriguing snippet: <i>He pushes against a heavy weight, against the unmistakable presence of another body like his with no beating heart but yet utterly <i>alive</i>, radiating energy and personality. There’s a sleepy grunt, followed by muffled cursing close to his ear.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy Toys

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Inspired in part by space_wrapped 2012 prompt 110. _AU: Jim and Bones are misfit toys, hoping/wishing to go together to a nice family with children who will love and play with them._  
>  A million thanks to abigail89 for speedy beta-reading, also thanks to weepingnaiad for cheer-leading!  
>  **Warnings:** none, just a slightly wacky metaphysical premise!

  
**Boy Toys**

It’s like he’s been asleep for a hundred years.

Jim knows all the children’s stories, every variation, retold a thousand times over in his - actually he doesn’t know _precisely_ how old he is, but, anyway, his life. 

He’s like a fairy prince come to life from the kiss of a fair maid or something, born again, stretching his limbs, shaking them out, tentatively exploring his environment, trying to figure out where he is. Whatever, the spell’s broken - he’s no longer in stasis. 

Jim wonders where he might have heard ‘stasis’ before; after all, it's not typically a word most kids use in play. Maybe he belonged to a miniature geek or, because Jim likes to read, he could have picked it up in books or on the nets.

His brain grinds while he searches cloudy memory banks and rusty cogs stumble into motion, sleepy and unused for the length of an undefined hibernation. Nope, nothing comes to mind – it’s weird how every single life he’s lived evaporates when he’s reborn, how each time a new kid takes him in, while there’s a little something left of who he was _before_ , still Jim can never remember old names, his or theirs. Yet he has this clear understanding, an _acceptance_ of how it all works.

And he doesn’t have any idea _how_ , but he just _knows_ he’s ‘Jim’. 

He pushes against a heavy weight, against the unmistakable presence of another body like his with no beating heart but yet utterly _alive_ , radiating energy and personality. There’s a sleepy grunt, followed by muffled cursing close to his ear. A nose bumps his cheek and Jim’s little chest swells – he’s not alone, he has a companion, someone he can be friends with. He’s always gotten along with the toys he’s put with but this is new, having someone who can be his side-kick _from the beginning_ \- that’s gotta be good, right? 

“Hey, man, _move_ will ya?” Jim grumbles, pitching his words so they’re inaudible to human ears, just in case they have company. 

They’re in muted darkness. They might be in a bag (there's definitely a plasticy smell, but that could be coming from his companion) and it’s warm enough, which means they’re probably indoors; could be a stationary car or toy box - he'll have to wait to find out. He’s not afraid while he stands on the brink of a new life and identity, his body thrums with anticipation.

Jim doesn’t remember a Naming. The Awakening happens when you first meet your kid and he has absolutely no recollection. The adults who buy you don’t tend to register or imprint – it’s kind of weird. Anyway, he approves of ‘Jim’ – it’s cool, masculine, a name people like. Even so, he’d better not get too attached, they may still change it; it happens sometimes after they’ve played with him for a while. 

“God damned Christmas,” gruff words right into his ear, sing-song southern, warm and sugar rich. How is it the voice feels familiar, makes him burn a little? Jim hopes to god this accent is part of his new friend’s character stamp and won’t change and fade.

“Ah, it’s the holidays?” Jim says, thinking how it’s odd that they’d be bought as Christmas gifts when, though he can’t remember how long he’s been around, Jim knows he’s old yet not old enough to be vintage. Why would anyone buy a used toy at this time of the year? More likely he’d be found in a thrift shop after New Year’s clear outs. 

“Why else d’ya think there are fucking Christmas carols, god dammed _tinsel_ scratching my ass? Fuck my life.” Ah, his friend must have woken sooner than Jim, worked it out.

“Wow, you must ‘ave had some grumpy owner before.”

“You know I wouldn’t know if that was true or not, dumbass.”

Because whoever your kid is, whatever he or she needs, _that's_ the character a toy develops. It's a beautiful thing, some way the universe balances out, or tries to according to a hippy rag doll Jim met once. He can't know why his companion's a sour puss but then it's not his place to judge; could be the kid who played with this toy worked out some real life conflicts and Grumpypants ‘argued back’ in play and character traits from the old life sometimes hang around awhile. They morph after a few weeks till you can barely remember even the traces of your previous identity. The character stamp or factory settings, on the other hand, tend to be pretty stubborn and hard to over-ride – nature/nurture, just like in humans, still it’s odd a toy would be so bad-tempered.

“You going to move or not?” Jim cants his hips up, wriggles – damn, this guy’s heavy.

“Why? Because you can’t _breathe_?” The last word drips with sarcasm and, after some Jim’s known--the treacly jack-in-the boxes, the Tinkerbells and blank, personality free robots, the fucking _teddy bears_ \--he admits it’s a pleasant change. Funny how Jim can remember them, but never the humans.

“Looks like we’re stuck like this for the time being,” Jim smiles, makes his voice gentle and reassuring because the way his new friend seems reluctant to let go suggests he hasn’t been around the block as many times as Jim has. “We should make the most of it, get to know each other.”

“I don’t need any friends.”

“ _Man,_ you’re grumpy.”

“And you’re irritatingly…cheerful.” 

Jim freezes instinctively when he hears a door open. 

There’s whistling, then a deep voice, “Lights.” And finally the interior of their bag comes into focus as does Jim’s unfriendly companion. He’s instantly aware of one hazel eye glaring at him, blue fabric, chocolate hair.

While Jim stops himself flinching when something clatters near his head, he feels his friend's hand twitch against his. Jim twists their fingers together sensing fear, proof this must be a young one, it may even be his first time. 

“Let’s take a look at ya.”

The world sways as their bag is picked up and their bodies fall apart, then are thrown together again.

This is it! If Jim had a heart, it would pound now, same as the many young ones rat-a-tat-tatting against his artificial skin over the years. He’s sure he feels as deeply as any human, and though there are no outward signs on his manufactured body, _inside_ he glows.

It's suddenly bright and a smiling human face looms above them, mostly in shadow with flashes of white teeth and brilliant blue eyes. 

Chilled fingers grip his wrist delicately and pull Jim out of the bag. The human smells real nice, hands clean with a faint smell of apply soap, some cologne applied hours ago. Jim stares in excitement, wishing he could turn his head and scan his surroundings, but it's cool, he'll get to do that soon as they're alone. He's placed on his back on a smooth, solid surface and waits.

Is this his new owner? There must be some connection between them or Jim wouldn't have woken and neither would his friend. He stares up at the creamy-white ceiling and strains his ears, trying to work out what the human’s doing now. There's no music, just the hum of the fridge, a faint smell of Mexican food released when the door opens, followed by a hiss as the human opens a can of soda which he gulps down quickly, burping dramatically when he’s done. 

"There ya go, buddy," the human says, and Jim hears a clunk as his companion’s placed beside him. In his peripheral vision he sees the human place his chin on his hands and let out a soft sigh. 

"You are one good looking bastard, Leonard McCoy."

Does that even count as kinky? And what a lame-ass name; it’s going to annoy the hell out of his new friend.

Then the human turns so the low lighting hits his face. Fuck – he’s beautiful, Jim thinks with a surge of emotion. If _Jim_ were human he’d have to squint when those cornflower blue eyes flood his field of vision, filling his chest with heat and, curiously, his mouth with the taste of sugar. The soul’s chemistry isn’t like physical chemistry, Jim can’t begin to understand it. He’ll have to do some research online, he thinks, soon as he gets a chance. 

Jim is lifted closer to the human’s face till he feels the rasp of stubble on his tiny cheeks. “Hey, hope you can forgive me for calling you Jimmy. I know _Bones_ won’t!” Jim rocks when the human bursts out laughing, that rich voice filling the space around him, in his head. Wow, this guy’s got a soul and a half! He’s not normally affected by adults. Kids keep him occupied enough, but Jim finds he wants to know who Bones is, and why the human would have done something as _child-like_ as nuzzle a doll.

“Doll? _Action figure_ , ass-hat.”

What? Why is the idiot, Leonard McCoy, his bag sharing companion, taking the risk of speaking out loud when there’s a human present? Jim prickles with irritation, his cheeks burn with a dash of fear. Damn, the guy’s an amateur. They’re going to have to have a talk – he’ll have to lay down some rules or the two of them won’t be able to be friends.

The human may have sensed something, going by the way he tilts his head, eyes narrowed as if he’s straining to hear. He walks to a window taking Jim with him, and Jim watches his surroundings lurch back and forth from his new angle nearby the human’s hip. It’s a small space, neutral walls, mahogany floor with bright, modern, nondescript prints and no clues for the personality of his new _owner_ for Jim’s convinced there will be no children in his new life, just this guy.

“Think he heard me?” The tiny voice says.

“Yes. Shut up,” Jim hisses. 

The human stills. “Computer? Audio,” he says.

“How can I assist you, Mr Kirk?” says a smooth female voice in a British accent.

“I think I’m hearing things…”

“Mr Kirk, since you are sound of hearing that is not an unexpected occurrence. Do you wish me to locate your last medical?” 

Kirk? Something like deja-vu pings in Jim’s head.

Kirk laughs again and Jim feels the grip around him loosen a little. “You sure you’re not related to Spock, sweetheart?” 

“Most sure, Mr Kirk.”

“Listen, don’t worry about it. I just thought maybe I heard a voice... _voices_. Must be something to do with my hangover, the fact that I imagined I heard something, or maybe the TV next door – forget I mentioned it. Go back to sleep or whatever it is you do when you’re not talking to me.” Wow, Kirk’s actually flirting with a computer.

Unmoved, the computer replies: “I have no need of sleep, Mr Kirk. Do you wish I should outline my back ground tasks?” 

Kirk chuckles again. “Nah, not this time, I need to get ready to go out. I’ve got a hot date tonight.”

“I hope you have a pleasant evening, Mr Kirk.”

“So do I, sweetheart, so do I.” Jim fancies he detects a trace of melancholy underlying the words. He’s good at reading people, well, kids anyway – adults might be more guarded – he’ll find out in good time.

Kirk walks to the small bedroom and rests Jim on the bed, propped against soft pillows which smell strongly of him but with no trace of anyone else. 

From here, he’s got a great view of his human; he’s tall, broad-shouldered with a thick neck and dark blond hair that looks like it could do with a cut. He’s wearing a worn long sleeved t in blue, faded jeans a little too tight around the ass, and motor bike boots scuffed and old looking.

Kirk steps over the parka he dumped on the floor and heads back into the kitchenette to return with Leonard McCoy. Jim notes with interest how Kirk brings McCoy up to his face and examines him closely peeking under blue clothing, running a long finger over his face and chest.

“Fuck, you really look like Bones. They did a good job,I guess.” Kirk scratches the nape of his neck and yawns. “I’m going to leave you here with Jimmy while I take a long bath, hang out with my right hand for a bit.” He positions McCoy next to Jim. “Now boys, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he says, looking between them and waggling thick eyebrows. 

Kirk runs the bath and leaves it to fill while he rummages around in the closet. He sniffs and then tosses a black suit onto the bed. He selects a white dress shirt, removes the laundry bag, shakes it off the hanger and holds it over his chest while he gazes into the full length mirror. Jim wants to tell Kirk he looks great, because something about the man seems a little off even though he should be exuding confidence – looking like that, he’d be used to people remarking on how attractive he is. Must be pre-date nerves.

The shirt’s thrown to the bed and Kirk grabs the hem of his t and drags it over his head. Leonard McCoy who’s been mercifully silent for a while chooses this moment to mumble, “I guess I’ve seen worse sights…”

Jim can’t disagree and feels pride at his human’s athletic build as Kirk uncovers his muscled body, finely haired, vibrating with energy though he detects a little tightness around the shoulders and feels an empathic twinge in his own not like actual pain, more like the vibrations of music passing through him. 

Jim watches what he must admit is a fine ass disappear into the steam filled bathroom finally closing the door behind him.

“God damned steam everywhere,” Leonard McCoy pipes up immediately. “It’s like fog in here.”

“Makes him feel cosy,” Jim says without thinking, just _knowing_ it’s true. He makes a conscious effort to keep his voice even when he turns to look at his friend. “McCoy, you can’t talk around humans, you must know that?” He falters expecting a defensive tirade. “He… _what_? What are you looking at?” Dark eyes stare at him from under a pair or spectacular eyebrows. Jim raises his hand to his face, moves his fingers across the smooth surface. “Am I broken?”

“You look like him,” Leonard McCoy says pointing accusingly, “or he looks like _you_. Your hair’s darker, but you’ve got the same crazy baby blues.” 

Jim processes this for a moment, then leaps to his feet and runs across the soft surface, the bed covers stretching out ahead like a pale blue prairie. He abseils to the soft pile, running the fabric expertly through his hands, loving the feeling of moving at last, _doing_ something.

“And the same annoying smirk,” McCoy calls down to him, head hanging over the drop.

After a furtive glance towards the bathroom door, it’s a short sprint across the carpet to the mirror where Jim stands contemplating himself, hands clenched at his sides. What he sees makes him do a double take: McCoy’s right, the similarity is uncanny. He leans in, stares into his plastic irises. They are indeed the same intense blue, framed by thick eyebrows which are imitations of those on the human. He too has a strong jaw, he thinks, turning his head to look at his wide neck. His reflection explores naked shoulders, moulded into the muscles of a hero, and tapering down over a defined six-pack to narrow hips. Whatever Jim’s costume looked like originally, the top half is now lost and he’s left wearing a pair of obscenely tight black pants and, he sees when he raises a foot, black boots that don’t come off. Damn, he’s hot!

“Done admiring yourself yet, kid?” McCoy’s stands right behind him, too close as ever and it could be Jim’s imagination but his eyes are lingering a little too long on his reflection.

“Oh. My. God – I get it now!” Jim spins round, grabs McCoy’s arm. 

His friend scowls down at the fingers wrapped around his bicep, raises an eyebrow. “You’re Ken,” he deadpans.

“No, I’m a Starfleet figure! I met one once, he had like,” Jim wriggles his fingers in front of his face like they’re worms, “really stupid curly hair, whatever, but he was a _Starfleet_ action figure and I’m dressed the same – wow! That’s so cool!” 

“And why is that ‘cool’?”

“I don’t know – maybe I’m a hero or something?”

“You’re a fucking toy, Jimmy.”

“It’s Jim.”

“Kirk called you Jimmy,“ McCoy drawls, folding his arms. 

Jim leans in so their noses are practically touching. “It’s Jim. Jimmy’s lame…” Jim’s voice tapers away; he does his best to glower but suddenly finds Leonard McCoy’s unnecessarily handsome face a little distracting.

McCoy unravels his arms and wags his finger in front of Jim’s nose, drawl thick with annoyance. “You can’t change your name, it’s not allowed.”

“Oh so _now_ sticking to the rules is a big deal!” 

“I’m a doctor,” Leonard McCoy says firmly. “Sometimes you gotta break rules to save lives.” 

Where the hell did he learn that line? It’s a curious character stamp.

McCoy steps back with arms outstretched to allow Jim a good look at his costume. He’s wearing blue scrubs, and they’re in-the-packaging immaculate. Jim reaches for Leonard McCoy’s wrist and catches hold of a translucent wire used to hold toys in place when they’re all packaged up. 

“No one’s ever played with you,” Jim says simply, his eyes scanning McCoy’s face, grinning when McCoy glowers at him.

“How do you know? Maybe I was kept in the box real special. I could be a collector’s item.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

“Ha, that’s what you wanna think, _fine_ , but I say that’s why you’re grumpy. No one’s ever lov—“ Jim cuts himself short, aware this sounds cruel and he’s not that kind of soul. It’s just that’s gotta be the worst, being a toy that no one plays with.

They’re interrupted by the unmistakable gurgle of the bath draining – Kirk’s been singing for the past few minutes and now he’s stopped, and, damn, they were so wrapped up in their little drama they’d lost touch with what was going on. They exchange a look and clamber up the sheet back onto the unmade bed, positioning themselves exactly the way they were left. Well, almost.

“I don’t recall we were this close,” Leonard McCoy grumbles, but he doesn’t shift away from Jim, from where their thighs touch a fraction, bare arms, too. 

Jim turns to look at him, at the ‘tan’ face, full lips and feels a wave of affection; they’re bonded after all and, while he can’t promise he’ll love McCoy, he can sure as hell look out for him.

“Trust me,” Jim says warmly, nudging McCoy and turning his head so he’s eyes front for when Kirk saunters into the bedroom. He’s got a towel slung over his shoulder, freckly skin gleaming with droplets of water. Jim feels an unexpected surge of pride that he should resemble this tall, imposing human.

“He’s got chicken legs,” McCoy informs him and Jim resists the urge to kick his friend and remind him to shut _the fuck_ up, and instead settles back, the glow inside increasing as he becomes more and more aware of the point where his synthetic skin touches Leonard McCoy’s.

+++

During the hour Kirk napped, they had time to complete a thorough reconnaissance. While his snores filled the modest space, they’ve figured out this isn’t his primary home. They found a Starfleet uniform in the closet and decided they’ll have to wait until he leaves the apartment before they can uncover more clues, try and figure out what rank he is as well as hope to learn the significance of the strange mustard color of his shirt.

“That so wouldn’t go with his eyes,” Jim observes, walking the length of the stripes on Kirk’s sleeve. 

“He’d look better in blue,” Leonard McCoy agrees. Then realizing how it sounds, he shakes his head. “I mean, more _masculine_ , you know…”

“Yeah, I _know_ ,” Jim smirks. “Wish I had a shirt. Maybe he’ll get me one…” He’d look good in blue, too. “I reckon he’s in charge;maybe he’s a captain!”

“You’re talking out of your ass, Jim.” McCoy balances on the toe of one of Kirk’s boots, kicking his legs while he speaks. “First he’s too damn young and,” holding up a second finger, “the computer calls him ‘mister’, remember?”

“That’s how he programmed her because he’s on shore leave and wants to forget about work. Must be stressful being in space,” Jim muses dreamily, gazing at the sleeping figure on the bed who’s hugging the pillow and muttering something incomprehensible under his breath. “Plus, he’s probably being modest.”

Leonard McCoy snorts. “Man with a dick that big ain’t modest, trust me.”

“Says the doctor with _no_ dick,” Jim smirks.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself!”

Jim’s getting so glowy around Leonard McCoy he’s mildy worried his chest will melt.

“What I can’t figure out,” McCoy muses glancing at Kirk who’s turned onto his back sporting impressive wood, “is why he programmed the computer to be British. It could be we’re in London and that’s the default.” He nods towards the window and they jog across the rug, round the wet towel and scale the chord for the blind until they’re on the sill, standing side by side, way too close again. Jim shoulder bumps McCoy, taking in how his face is illuminated by the city lights, the snow falling. McCoy’s lips quirk but he doesn’t look at Jim, just casually links arms. “I don’t like heights,” he explains. Yeah, right.

“No Shard, no St Paul’s, not London.” Jim knows this shit.

“So where are we then, genius?”

“I dunno, a city, a cold one.”

“I can see why they’d make you a captain, brain that big, you’d need big quarters.” 

“You could be my CMO,” Jim sighs, leaning into McCoy making his friend yelp as the movement unsteadies them.

“No. Fucking. Way. If we’d been meant to go into space, we’d, I dunno, have space-gills or something.”

Jim chuckles then pulls away smartly when he hears a rustle from the bed. “Quick! He's waking up. He's got his hand on his dick! Back to the kitchen!”

+++

They watch their human sitting at the breakfast bar, butt-naked and drinking milk straight from the bowl. Jim knows Leonard McCoy is going to rant about that later. For now, mercifully, he merely whispers, “Does he have any idea how much sugar is in that stuff? No wonder he fidgets like he’s got ADHT, god damned infant.”

Jim’s given up saying ‘shush’ to him, pretty sure half the time he just _knows_ or senses what McCoy’s thinking, because they’ve been brought to life at the same time which has somehow bonded them, so there’s no danger their human will hear. Also, Kirk may have perfect hearing, but he’s no kid and, as McCoy informed Jim, _presbycusis_ , the decline of hearing acuity with age, is marked even in a man in his early thirties, so they don’t have to be as careful around Kirk as Jim first thought. Their speech is just at the wrong frequency. Leonard McCoy’s factory setting means he knows all sorts of medical shit which is great because Jim’s starting to get a little thrill every time he gets a chance to admire those plump lips work around medical terms. God bless the ancient Greeks! 

Jim’s already ‘suffered’ one tirade (verbal delivery at warp speed because being a toy, Leonard McCoy doesn’t need to breathe) highlights which included how dangerous it is when Kirk leaves wet foot prints all over the floor and the rug, how unsanitary because bacteria “sure love a nice warm and damp environment”, how if only Kirk paired his socks, he wouldn’t have had to do a hurried laundry so he could wear a matching pair on his date, how Kirk ought to shave if his date’s going to think he’s made an effort - (“Pot kettle black,” Jim said). 

The comm _tweeps_ and Kirk’s startled out of his reverie, spills milk down his chin. He reaches over the box of _Starship Burst_ , knocking it over McCoy who was sitting propped against it. Now all Jim can see are his legs sticking out from under it.

“Hey, Bones!” Kirk’s saying.

“ _Hi, kid_ ,” the voice on the other end says; of course Jim can hear everything as clearly as if Bones were in the room. “ _All set? I’m outside._ ”  
“Oh, fuck! I’m running late. Had to do some laundry.” 

“ _Well how long you gonna be? I’m in a cab_.”

‘Interesting,’ Jim thinks, ‘Bones has a southern accent just like Leonard McCoy’s.’ A theory starts to form somewhere in his mind, but then he’s distracted by the sight of Kirk running his finger through the milk puddle on the counter, how he lifts the moist tip to his lower lip and how his tongue darts out. Jim’s glad McCoy can’t see. 

“We’ll have to order another. Come on up, man!”

In the few minutes it takes the Bones dude to dismiss the cab and make his way up to Kirk’s apartment, Jim notices that Kirk hasn’t taken the opportunity to dress. Instead he tells the computer to dim the lights and play his “fuck off ‘love is in the air’ mix.” 

Still butt-naked, white ass cheeks gleaming pale gold in the lamp light, Kirk strolls to a mostly empty cupboard where he locates a bottle of booze and two bags of potato chips.

It’s then the door chimes and Jim watches an unperturbed Kirk take two tumblers from the cupboard and settle on the stool again. He folds his arms and winks at Jim. “Man, is he ever going to be pissed when he sees you,” he whispers conspiratorially.

The door chimes again; in no hurry at all, Kirk eventually takes a few long strides to press the comm panel.

“Yes?”

“ _Dammit, Jim, what the _fuck_ are you doing? I’m freezing my ass off. Let me in!_ ”

The door slides open and a dark haired figure brushes past Kirk into the room, bringing an icy blast of the outside in. Jim feels a little pulse of heat in his permanently attached pants when he catches sight of a ridiculously handsome face flushed pink around the cheeks and nose from the cold, heavy eyebrows pulled close in annoyance, dark eyes and plump, pouty, inviting lips. 

This is crazy, fucked up; Jim’s never been attracted to a human before, in fact the whole idea is surreal. He then notices how Kirk can’t stop grinning and the penny drops. A great shower of pennies in fact. Kirk is patently in love with Bones (though Jim’s not sure Bones has any idea he’s even attracted) and, since Jim feels much of what his human does, that would explain why Jim’s drawn to Bones as well.

“Missed you too, Bones,” Kirk says warmly.

“What are you talking about – it’s only been two weeks.” A beat. “You’re naked,” Bones adds with a ‘not again’ tone to his voice.

“I _like_ being naked,” Jim says truthfully.

“Well of course you do, but _why_ aren’t you dressed? We’re supposed to be going to dinner, though why we couldn’t just have a take-out, stay in the warm—“ Kirk grins indulgently while Bones takes a breath and continues, “Freak fucking weather, I don’t know, Riverside, why you don’t just keep this shit for the holiday cards. It’s god dammed _freezing_ out there, Jim. I got covered in snow just walking from the cab.” 

Another rainstorm of pennies – so _that’s_ where Jim’s name came from, Kirk’s named his toy after _himself_.

“Arrogant asshole,” Leonard McCoy’s voice snarks in Jim’s head.

Bones begins to shrug his big, heavy coat off, sending a flurry of snow onto the floor. Jim holds out his hand and takes it, drapes it over the bar stool.

“This restaurant is special, Bonesy,” Kirk says eyes bright. “Great southern cuisine!”

“In fucking Iowa City, you’ve gotta be kidding me.” Bones pulls up a stool and perches on it, legs crossed, runs his hands through damp, thick, dark hair spiked up in a real mess, unlike Leonard McCoy’s carefully coiffed look. Jim finds himself wishing their unmoving hair could be rearranged like this – it would be kind of fun. 

Bones is wearing a suit, dark gray and beautifully cut to show off his narrow hips and long legs. “’sides, I’m full of southern cuisine,” Bones says raising the hem of his shirt and patting a flat stomach, “Scotty’ll need to re-calibrate the fuckin’ transporter to get me back on the ship."

Jim doesn’t miss how Kirk’s eye twitches at the movement. 

“We can cancel, then I won’t have to dress for dinner.”

“Get your clothes on, kid – two weeks without me to keep you in line and you’ve already turned into a bum.” 

Bones leans on the counter. Hazel eyes slide across the surface, take in the spilled milk, the near empty bowl and he _tsks_.

Kirk, meanwhile, has moved to the bedroom; with his back to the kitchen, he picks up his boxers from the bed and pulls them on, not closing the door.

Bones, rights the cereal box, gives it a shake and puts his hand inside, pulls out a starship and bites it smiling to himself. “Who you lookin’ at?” he says addressing Jim. 

He suddenly frowns and extends his hand to pick Jim up. “What the hell?” Then he spots Leonard McCoy face down on the counter, moves his head down level and turns McCoy slightly so he can see his face. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispers, looking towards the bedroom, towards Kirk who’s now got his white shirt on.

“Jim, s’okay if I pour us a drink?” Bones calls over, reaching for the bottle of bourbon with his free hand before Kirk can answer. It doesn’t escape Jim’s notice how Bones is frowning, how his hand trembles a little where he’s holding onto Jim.

“Sure, old man, help yourself. Pour me one.”

Bones arranges Jim so he’s sitting up and his legs are hanging over the edge. “Even the Jim Kirk action figure can’t keep its god damned clothes on,” he says to himself. He pours two fingers of bourbon into one glass, drains it in a single swallow, refills it, and pours the same measure into the clean glass. 

“Kid?” Bones clears his throat, glances at where he’s sat Jim.

“You gonna bitch because of the milk on the counter? I was gonna clean it up, lost track of time, I—“ Kirk steps through the door; he’s made progress with dressing, still no pants but at least he’s got his shirt mostly done up, a blue tie draped under his collar, hanging over his chest, feet bare, twitching on the pale gray rug. Is he nervous? Strikes Jim as uncharacteristic but then, if Kirk _is_ his owner, not a kid, it’s Jim’s place to bond with him, to know what he feels, what he needs. And Jim can feel it in his guts this conversation has very little to do with milk and everything to do with something more awesome.

“I don’t give a fuck about the milk—“ (See?)

“You don’t?”

Bones lifts Leonard McCoy off the counter, looks at him briefly. “Where’d’you find this?” He waves McCoy between them. “I thought they didn’t make them. You know I—“

“—didn’t give Hallmark the okay, I know.” Jim strides in, extends his hand for McCoy but Bones doesn’t hand him over. He folds Leonard McCoy’s legs into a seated position and rests him a hand span away from Jim.

Kirk doesn’t take his eyes off Bones’ face, his hands drop to his sides. “I hunted him down. There’s a lot of me, I got this one in a thrift store this morning and yours, well there was a collector…it’s one of a kind, Bones, I just wanted you. _It_ , I mean.”

Bones slides off the stool, takes a step towards Kirk and Jim feels the place where his heart would be clench, knows this means Kirk’s feeling it too. 

“And this is the gift you were gonna buy me, the one you said took you an age to find?”

“Sorry, man, no – it’s, er, you’re drinking your gift as a matter of fact.”

_God damned idiot._ Jim hears McCoy’s voice in his head, but he’s not sure whether he’s referring to Bones or to Kirk. Both?

“You didn’t wrap it.”

“I never do. You know what you see is what you get with Jim Kirk.” 

Fuck, Kirk’s heart is pounding so hard now it’s like Jim can hear it drumming in his own ears. He feels his face heat up, sharing Kirk’s embarrassment.

“Because you’re always predictable,” Bones says, “except when you’re not.”

He moves towards Kirk, first resting Leonard McCoy right beside Jim, arranging him so he’s close, so close. Holy fuck, Jim thinks. Then Bones and Jim face off, the tension between them thrumming like a force-field.

“Yeah,” McCoy says. There’s strange energy passing between Jim and Leonard McCoy too, something hot, penetrating, rolling deep in the space within their synthetic chests, and Jim thinks how he would be holding his breath right now, if he could; it’s definitely what Kirk’s doing as Bones stands a hand span away from his human.

“Do you feel it, Leonard McCoy, how our human wants him?”

“Of course, he’s mine too, dumbass. Feels like he’s wanted this a long time. “

Jim takes a chance, wraps his arm around Leonard McCoy, makes it clumsy, makes it look awkward, no fluidity of movement like when he moves under his own volition, but as if he’s been posed. He’s here, _they’re_ here to make their human happy. These two fools obviously can’t manage it themselves so Jim’s going to have to lend fate a hand.

The slight movement must have subconsciously attracted Kirk’s attention because he breaks his gaze from Bones to lean round him. His eyes widen when he takes in how his two action figures, McCoy and Jim, sit with arms round each other.

“Did you do that, Bones?”

“Do what?” Bones asks without turning to look.

“Sit them like that, arrange them like that?”

“Yeah. You’re not the only one gets to act like a kid when he’s on shore leave.” 

“They’re very… er…close. Together, I mean.”

Jim knows that Bones hasn’t seen the new _adjusted_ positions; _he_ thinks they’re both just sitting side by side. It’s perfect. Kirk will believe _Bones_ moved them, like he’s trying to say something. 

“Well, I blame the blue eyed one. He’s always crossing the line.”

“He has to, Bones; the old guy, he’s too damn cautious.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Kirk says, his voice challenging, low.

“You look ridiculous in that get up,” Bones practically growls, reaching out a hand, winding it round the back of Kirk’s head, guiding him close so their lips are a hair’s breadth apart.

“Think I should wear something different?” Kirk edges forward, guides Bones’ free hand up to his shirt collar. “You decide.”

Jim finds he can’t help squeezing Leonard McCoy’s hand when he sees the humans finally cross that tiny ravine and press their lips together cautiously. 

“Yes!” he whispers.

“Shush, they’ll hear you!” McCoy says with a growl, the spit same tone Bones would use. “You’ll spoil it.” 

Unlikely, considering the noises Kirk and Bones are making, but Jim concedes that at least Leonard McCoy is learning the appropriate way to behave around humans. 

He watches, mesmerized as Bones divests Kirk of what’s left of his ‘date’ outfit, dragging the white shirt down muscled arms and back, tossing it to the floor. Then Bones proceeds to knot the tie carefully, deliberately, eyes always on Kirk’s flushed eager face. 

Jim can feel Kirk’s disbelieving joy, his relief when Bones trails a hand down Kirk’s sides till he diverts and works it down the front of pristine boxers. A wave of desire and relief hits Jim from where he watches, like a ball of fire it erupts inside him, makes him cling to Leonard McCoy’s hand tighter. 

Bones leans in, nips at Kirk’s neck, his left hand moving up and down, twisting, dragging guttural noises from Jim’s human. Bones unzips his dress pants, guides Kirk’s hand to his fly. 

“Should we take this to the bedroom?” Kirk chokes out, his words stifled by soft lips Jim can almost feel too. They kiss long and deep and Jim turns to Leonard McCoy who’s as rapt by the scene unfolding before them as he is.

“Damn,” McCoy says, shifting a little, “I’m not sure we should be watching this.”

“If you ask me,” Jim whispers, his arm sliding behind McCoy until his fingers are touching the smooth skin under his scrubs, “I think we should take a leaf out of their book, soon as it’s safe.”

“Infant,” McCoy mutters distractedly, arching into Jim’s touch. “You and that human are each as dumb as the other.”

Jim smirks, risks another twist of his body so that he’s spooning his new friend, “Maybe, one big difference…” he reaches round McCoy’s waist and works his fingers until he can feel the Velcro fastening, wondering if he can make McCoy grunt like Bones does as Kirk drops to his knees, pulls his pants down and swallows him whole.

“What’s that, Jim?” Leonard McCoy croaks.

“I didn’t wait five years.”

“You know we have a problem here?”

“What’s that?” 

“We don’t have all the same anatomical parts.”

Jim stills, thinks a moment then nuzzles Leonard McCoy’s ear. Yep, _there’s_ a moan. “True, no tongues, no dicks but have you _met_ me?”

“Yes, you infant, more’s the pity.” McCoy turns in Jim’s arms and pushes his mouth against his, kissing him soundly. “And what I’m getting from Kirk is that you don’t believe in no win scenarios, whatever the hell that means.”

Jim _had_ a smart ass comment ready, he knows he did, but what with the romantic glow of soft lighting, against the soundtrack of soft grunts and pleas from the bedroom, with the feel of Leonard McCoy’s smooth muscled skin when he tears at the easy-to-undo Velcro fastening of his doctor’s shirt (thank you, Hallmark), he really could care less. His soul’s singing, his chest is burning and his groin is dancing a samba – he angles Leonard McCoy’s extremely flexible (and durable) hip sockets and thanks the heavens for the fact that he might not be a real boy, but he has a soul.

  
**THE END**

  
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